


Time Goes On

by madamedicelia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aging, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamedicelia/pseuds/madamedicelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader reminisces their memories and ponders age as they walk through a place full of childhood memories, especially of a mysterious man who has often changed her way of thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Goes On

**Author's Note:**

> For a contest on dA (APH-Best-Readers group), hope y'all like it!
> 
> EDIT: I won first place asfghjkl;lkjhgfdsaafgrwb!

The metal gateway falls behind you as you enter the hustle and bustle of the fairground. The sweet smell of roasting almonds mixes with the pungent odor of cattle as you step on the crushed, once-green grass. The rickety carousel’s organ wheezes out hurdy gurdy melodies as it spins. You remember when the pipes were still shiny and the rides new. It’s been a while since you were here last. 

You stroll slowly along, reveling in both the brand new and worn old. The stands have not changed much. The local church still hosts a stall selling fresh corn on the cob. Another boasts its old-fashioned apple pie with hand-churned ice cream. A small booth sports a striped banner claiming to make the best fudge in town though the special of the day, abunchacrap, makes you quirk your eyebrow in joking wonder. All the scents tickle your nostrils and awaken your stomach but you know it’s only your eyes that hunger for the appealing dishes. 

A bright splotch of pink moves in the corner of your vision and you find the cotton candy stand. It’s an old, wheeled cart, like the kind you might find in a Disney movie. A smiling man slowly moves a paper cone in a circle, catching the flying threads of sugar. The children laugh in delight as the fluffy treat sticks to their fingers and disappears in their mouths. You smile lopsidedly as you remember the first time you were here. 

~

You had just turned five and a half and your parents had brought you to the fair for the first time. In your mind, it was to celebrate the age milestone and no one could tell you different. You were too short to go on most of the rides but nevertheless enjoyed watching others delight themselves. Secretly, you were a bit scared of the hulking contraptions and glad to be a bit petite. 

You gazed at the machines in wonder and intrigue while the smell of fresh treats caused your mouth to water. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice when your mother’s hand fell out of yours and the crowd carried you away. Only when a machine making fluffy, pink fairy floss required money to access the sweets did you realize you were alone. The crowd rushed by in a blur around you as you spun around frantically, searching for your parents.

You started walking around nervously, scanning the faces in hopes of finding familiar ones. As the search turned fruitless, you began to move faster, anxious tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The pretty colors and decadent smells no longer amused you. They made you feel like you were lost in an alien world full of ignorant strangers. In your rush, your eyes skipped over a large tree root jutting out of the ground. In seemingly slow motion, you felt your shoe get caught and your body fall. The world, oblivious to your predicament, continued on. The dry dirt billowed around you and settled in a matter of seconds. 

“Are you okay, bambina?” You swiveled around to locate the source of this voice.

A concerned face surrounded with chestnut hair stared at you curiously. He was wearing jeans and a knit sweater and holding a half-empty bag of roasted almonds. The sweet aroma curled around you like the visible heat waves through the cold air. 

You rubbed away stray tears and said, “I’m okay.”

He cocked his head to the side and inquired, “You are lost? You look it.”

“I can’t my parents.” You sniffled. 

He held out his hand. “I can help! I’ll bring you to the main booth. They can help you better there,” he said happily.

You took his hand and got up. His hands, while slim, were huge compared to yours. Strangely enough, his nails were lavender with little cat silhouettes on them.

“Your nails are cute. I like kittens,” you said.

He laughed, his grin causing his eyes to close almost completely. “My friend likes to practice his ideas on me.”

“What’s his name?” you asked inquisitively. 

He smiled like he was remembering a private joke. “He likes to be called Feliks. Oh! I haven’t told you my name,” he exclaimed. “I’m Feliciano.”

“Hi Felic- Felice-,” you stumbled, mangling the pronunciation. 

“Call me Feli,” he gently interrupted. 

“Hi Feli,” you said, testing the name. “I’m y/n.”

“Nice to meet you, y/n! Is this your first time to the fair?” You noted that he spoke differently than the people you knew. Your lack of knowledge left you unable to place his accent. You’ll have to pester your parents about it later.

“Yes. It was supposed to be for my fifth and a half birthday. Do you remember when you were five?” you asked, your innocent child brain overfilling with random questions.

He laughed again, though his eyes were wistful. “Not really. That was a long time ago.”

“A really long time?”

“A really, really long time ago.”

“Likes hundreds? Or thousands?” you asked excitedly.

“Around 1500 I think,” he said thoughtfully, a finger tapping his chin. Your naïve mind didn’t understand that he could have been joking.

“Wow! You’re old! Were there, like, dinosaurs around? Or Egyptians and pharaohs?” Now you were intrigued and wanted to know as much as possible.

“Not really,” he responded with a laugh. “It was a little after Grandpa Ro- er, the fall of Rome. Have you ever heard of the Roman Empire?”

You quickly shook your head no, your hair jiggling their plastic ties. You stared at him for further information and stories. 

“He, I mean, it was a great time. There were so many things happening!” He threw his arms on the air as if to demonstrate. 

You listened intently while Feliciano told grand stories of emperors and tense battles with invading tribes like the Lombards and Ostrogoths. He moved forward in history with each tale. He mentioned Renaissance artists like he knew them, sharing their quirky details and funny stories. He described the beautiful cathedrals they built and decorated with vivid scenes. Feliciano went through the unification, almost saying what sounded like “brother” sometimes. You figured it was because he spoke another language more than English. It would also account for his funny accent. He had then gotten off topic and was about to explain how he met his two best friends when they arrived at the security booth. 

“Well, here’s where I leave you, bambina,” he announced.

“Aw but Feli! I want to hear more stories!” you cried.

He leaned down on his knee and patted your head. “. I’m sure you’ll hear some like them soon. But now I have to go and you need to find your parents. I’m sure they’re really worried by now,” he stated.

“Yeah…” You looked at the ground, sad to see your new friend go. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” he said. 

You glanced at the direction of the door then back at Feliciano. You threw your little arms around his neck and hugged him. “You better come back soon. You tell the best stories.”

He laughed but gave no other vocal response. “Go find your parents,” he chuckled. “Good bye, bambina.”

“Bye Feli!” you yelled as you ran away into the booth.

It may have been your imagination but you thought you heard him mumble, “I wish I was a child like you again.”

You spun around, about to ask him what he meant but he had already gone.

~

You smile sadly at the memory. That day all you could talk about was Feliciano and his stories. Your parents were worried about the stranger but glad to have found you. You pestered them with questions about history. It was because of Feli that you loved history so much. You carried this passion your whole life, craving knowledge like a starving man and savoring new historical facts like a fine wine. 

Without Feli, you probably would have never have become a historian. The high school classes were dull enough for some people; four more years of it in college would be unthinkable. To you, it was better than having front row seats to one’s favorite band’s concert. It was never a tedious class for you. Your profession now is your dream life. Aside from perhaps becoming a real life Indiana Jones and using that knowledge to fight bad guys and find cursed treasure. Now that would be fun.

Sometimes you think of his last words and now realize what he meant. You sometimes wish you hadn’t grown up, that you could be a kid again. No responsibilities, no stress. Just playing and laughing. So innocent, so unaware of the world yet so curious to discover it. Every day was a new adventure; a new thing to learn and you had all the time in the world to unearth it. Oh, to have such freedom again.

Continuing your stroll, you exit the maze of food and enter the main are of entertainment. Children squeal in delight on a miniature roller coaster shaped like a furious dragon. They seem indifferent to the peeling, green paint. The more daring brave the creaking, metal rides, ones that spin backward and forwards suddenly and others that throw one high above the fair. The Ferris wheel watches over the smaller attractions like a careful mother; calm and sturdy. You pause at the edge of the queue, resting your hand on the steel pipe fence. You remember the first time you rode this Ferris wheel.

~

It was your fourteenth and a half birthday. It was tradition now to go to the fair on your half birthdays. Over the years, you noted that the fair had grown. There were more food stands along with a wider variety. The petting zoo had expanded to include a couple of miniature horses, a llama, and a parrot. You heard next year they might bring a kangaroo. The competitions such as the produce and chicken contest had increased in popularity, now including entries from farms across the country. You could also hear that the fair goers had changed too. Different languages floated around, the foreign words lilting in the breeze. 

Sometimes you saw the man from nine years ago. At least, you think you did. You could occasionally hear his blithe laughter or catch a glimpse of his copper hair but could never locate the source. You’d since lost any rational hope of finding Feliciano again but a little piece of your heart kept nagging on relentlessly regardless of logic. 

You had wandered away from your parents to go on the rides you feared as a child. Now you were feckless and believed you could face anything. Actually, you had grown so accustomed to the adrenaline rush and thrill, you no longer screamed in terror but laughed with wild abandon. 

Your tickets expended, you got in line for the Ferris wheel since it was free. You sat on the metal fence, balancing on the rail as the line inched forward. The popularity of the ride caused single riders to have to ride with strangers so you were nervous to see whom you’d have to deal with. The technician waved for you to enter the basket, since your mystery second rider was already there. You stepped into the swaying cart, gripping the sides to keep from tipping it.

“Long time no see, bambina,” a familiarly cheerful voice greeted.

You spun around so fast in shock that you fell back, thankfully, in your seat.

Feliciano waved at you from the other seat as if this was perfectly normal. 

“Feli!” you spluttered. You wanted to say so many things but they moved too fast in your mind to form a coherent sentence. “Where have- what are- how-?”

“I’m here every year, bambina,” he said. “Sometimes you just miss me.”

“Why?” was all you managed to get out. 

The wheel started turning and the carriage swished a bit as it rotated. The queue shrank into a tiny line, the giant, fearsome rides becoming toys. The forest crept into vision, the trees undetailed but abundant.

“I have many things to do, important business. I come here just to relax between meetings,” he answered, gazing at the shrinking fair.

“Well, what is your job?” you inquired bluntly. Never one for tact, you. “Are you like a historian or archeologist? You knew so much about Italy and Rome when I first talked to you.”

He laughed, brown eyes disappearing behind his smile. “I suppose that’s part of it.”

“That’s really vague,” you stated, using a word you’d heard in English class. You weren’t sure what it meant but it seemed to fit. “And how old are you even? I remembered you joked about that.”

Feliciano looked at you, his hand tapping his chin in contemplation. “Yeah… It was just a joke.”

“So what do you do?” you pressed, suddenly suspicious. You haven’t talked to the man in years and when you did, you were young and naïve. You realized he could be dangerous. Since when did adults voluntarily talk to children about history?

“You could say I work in government. For Italia, of course,” he replied, evading the question.

Feliciano gave off an air of being so carefree and kind that you couldn’t not trust him. He never did anything to you. It seemed to welcoming to just hear more of his stories. Even if now you already knew them from history class. 

“Your nails are painted again,” you declared. They were polka dotted pink and black. Very classy. Even though they were chipped.

“Yeah! Feliks still loves to do them when Lith- uh, Toris, his friend, won’t let him,” Feliciano explained.

“Your friends are strange. I like them. But why do you almost call them other names?” you asked, your curiosity beating your want for historical tales.

“We have inside nicknames,” he said sheepishly. 

“Well, what’s yours?”

He chewed his lip as if the information would set of a bomb if he were to say it out loud. “Italy,” he finally responded.

“Is that ‘cause you work for it? Are everyone else’s names like that? What if someone works for the same government?” The questions spilled out without your consent.

He looked relieved. “Yep, that’s the idea. And we just use something else. Like my fratello, he deals with Southern Italy more so we call him Romano. You know, like Roma.”

You didn’t know much about languages but could figure out what he meant. “That’s really cool. What would my name be?”

Feliciano chuckled. “I’m not sure. I know someone for every country, even the ones that aren’t actually countries. Perhaps you could be your own micronation?”

You didn’t know what that was but nodded anyways. He seemed smarter than you so you thought it best go along with it. 

“Are you married? Does your wife have her own country, too?” you asked to divert the conversation away from topics in which you knew little to other topics in which you knew little.

“Er, no,” he said uncomfortably. “I don’t have any family other than Romano.”

Forever sensitive and perceptive, you asked, “Are they dead?”

He looked wistfully at the sky. “Yes.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He smiled to show he was fine. “Time moves on doesn’t it? I can’t do anything but enjoy what and whom I have right now. No use moping around; time doesn’t stop.”

He said it so casually, his Italian accent making it sound jaunty. But the more you thought of it, the deeper it was. 

You remember when your hamster died. You remember the day you got him and taking care of him every day. You tried your hardest to give him the best life possible; bought the best food, supplemented with crisp vegetables. You kept his cage clean and water fresh. You even spent all of your allowance on buying cage extensions for him to play in. It was the best three years with him. 

Sadly, one day you noticed he wasn’t running in his wheel as usual. After hunting around the wood shavings, you found him hiding in a corner. His body was cold and stiff. You cried for days, missing school and turning away friends. When you finally returned, you saw how much work you missed and how your friends, though worried, continued about their lives. It angered you that no one was mourning as well but in the back of your mind you knew they were right. You can’t stop the world just because something sad happened. You have to keep moving, even though it hurts. 

“Don’t look so sad, bambina,” Feliciano said softly. “What bug got into your pasta?”

The strange idiom made you giggle but couldn’t dispel the cloud of desolation.

“If you’re sad all the time, how are you going to tell cool stories when your old?” he joked, a little nervous with having to deal with a moody child.

A whisper of a grin flitted across your lips and you nodded slowly once.

“See!” he exclaimed. He threw his arms in air to emphasis the joy causing the carriage to rock. “It’s best to spend your time all happy and positive and stuff. It makes for better memories.”

“I like the way that sounds,” you laughed, entirely happy now. “What’s your best one?”

“My best memory?” He tilted his head in thought. “I have so many.”

“About 1500 years worth,” you jested.

“Heh, right about,” he agreed offhandedly. “I think it’d be meeting my best friends. I think I was about to tell you this last time.”

You nodded enthusiastically. Finally a story! You’d missed them.

“Well, it all started with a tomato crate…” His story went on and on but you were never bored. Feliciano loved to talk about his friends. He told of their journeys on an island and amusing (read: embarrassing) stories. They were all tinged with historical facts. You figured it was a historian government official thing. But it only made the narratives more fascinating and sometimes, funny. The wheel had gone around about twenty times by the time he was done. Or rather cut off by the sudden stop.

“Is it time for you to go again?” you asked sadly.

He jumped out of the carriage and responded. “Sad but true. It was great to see you again. You’re so much bigger than the first time I met you. That feels like just yesterday.”

“And you don’t look any different,” you mentioned. “At least I think so. I don’t remember those kinds of details from that long ago.”

“I don’t change much,” he chuckled.

You paused a second before hugging him. Nine years ago, you barely made it to his knees but now were level with his chest.

“Will I see you again?” you mumbled.

He pulled away before answering, “I’m always around. Good bye.”

With that he walked away, casting one last wave over his shoulder before melding with the crowd. 

~

It doesn’t matter that this happened years ago; you still cherish those conversations. You didn’t always realize it, but he taught you something different each time you saw him. That is, besides the history. And it wasn’t like a dense philosophy lecture; they just slipped into his stories. He was so silly and jovial one would never have guessed that he could know of such things. Perhaps that’s why it resonated with you. 

You sigh and keep walking. Your parents no longer accompanied you to the fair. Their joints and muscles couldn’t handle the long day of walking. This saddens you, to see your parents grow old. You remember when you were a kid and they ran around with you and even joined you on the playground. Now their once dark hair is flecked with grey, shallow wrinkles starting to appear around their eyes. You don’t want them to grow old. 

You shake your head to get rid of these depressing thoughts. We can ignore reality a little while longer. You were staring hard at the ground to stop tears causing you to bump headfirst into a stranger. 

“Oh, sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay, bambina,” a familiar voice says with a small laugh.

“Feli!” you shout in joy and wrap your arms around him. You were nearly the same height now, perhaps a couple inches shorter than him. “It’s been so long! Where have you been?”

“Nowhere, everywhere,” he answers. 

You pull back, your past concern rising again. You look at his face for any signs of aging. His skin is as perfect as you remember it, his hair the same, not a sign of grey or even a dulling of color. Even that weird pesky curl still sticks out.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you breathe in relief as well as surprise. It’s been nearly twenty years since you first met him. He must be over fifty by now. Surely by now he must have some sign of age.

“I just age well,” he replies happily but he’s looking off to the side.

“You’re lying. That’s not possible,” you insist. “Even Halle Berry still looks old. Not old old like orthopedic shoes but old like she’s obviously not nineteen anymore.”

He sighs almost imperceptibly. “Remember, bambina, I’m Italy! The one with 1500 years worth of stories!” he tries to joke.

You just look at him, trying to discern what to do or what to believe.

“But wouldn’t that explain it?” he whispers.

You open your mouth to try to reply but find yourself speechless. It was so out there but… You’d heard stories of such people but never believed them. Who would?

“It would make total sense, wouldn’t it?” he repeats. “The history, the age, my friends. I learned not to tell people since not many believe it. People like France managed to deal with everyone knowing who he is but me, no so much.”

You wanted to believe him. “But how can I know that the truth?”

He shrugs and smiles lopsidedly. “Not much I can do for that other than what you already know. It’s up to you.”

You weight the logic and probability but your gut wins out. “I wish I could be like you,” you sigh. “I wish my family was like that; I don’t want to see them go.”

He lifts your chin with a finger. “No, you don’t. Time passes differently for me. It’s best to live the life you have to the best you can. Where you can grow old with your loved ones. People aren’t meant to say goodbye to their loved ones repeatedly. It’s lonely.”

“Perhaps living forever may not be such a good idea then…” you ponder out loud. You can barely stand the idea of watching your parents grow old, let alone friends or even yourself. Having to repeat this cycle while you just stood by would be heartbreaking. 

“I- I’m sorry for you then,” you resolve. “Having to deal with that.”

“It’s alright, bambina,” he assures you with a smile.

The town bells tolls, one ring for every hour. The sixth bell reverberates and lingers. You notice it’s sunset and the red and pink light cast long shadows. The birds have returned to their nests and the nocturnal animals are just waking.

“I guess you have to go now?” you predict, a mixed tinge of sadness lining your words.

“That’d be right,” Italy agrees. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you any stories this time. And that I kind of made it sad. Shoot, I’m sorry; I probably ruined your day now, didn’t I?”

You laugh, your eyes almost closing. You probably got that from him. “No, far from it. It’s great whenever I can see you. I learn so much anyways. You’re quite wise.”

Now it’s Italy’s turn to laugh. “My friends would beg to differ.”

“Now I feel all special that I got to see this side of you,” you say contentedly. 

“Maybe you can meet them one day and tell them that,” he replies. “I have a feeling you’d like them.”

“Already planning a trip to your country,” you answer, only half joking. 

“I’ll show you all the pastas and tell you every story I know,” he chirps, waving one hand across the air as if to demonstrate all the things you’ll do.

“Until then,” you say, hugging him one last time.

“Until then,” he agrees. 

For the third time in your life you say goodbye to him but this time it feels different. Like everything will work out for the good.

 

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,   
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!  
Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.   
Push off, and sitting well in order smite   
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds   
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths   
Of all the western stars, until I die. 

\- Lord Alfred Tennyson, Ulysses

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this made you guys think, just about anything; life, death, relationships. That was my goal in writing this.


End file.
